


Don't say I never did anything for you

by Isis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sex Pollen (sort of), Something Made Them Do It, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-03 06:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: When Iorveth's not at their appointed meeting place, Geralt goes looking for him.





	Don't say I never did anything for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



Iorveth wasn’t at the clearing where they were supposed to meet. Geralt squinted at the sun, measuring its distance above the horizon; no, this was the appointed time, and the appointed place. He’d give the elf a quarter-hour’s grace, he decided, and leaned against a tree.

The time passed, and still no Iorveth. This wasn’t like him, thought Geralt, frowning. Either something had happened to him – and it would have to be something very serious, considering his skills with bow and sword – or Geralt had walked into a trap that had not yet sprung. He sharpened his senses and let them reach outward.

Iorveth’s scent permeated the air. The elf had been here, there was no doubt. The question was, where was he now?

Concerned, Geralt followed the sensory trail. Now that he was alert, he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed earlier. It was a strong, vivid scent, as musky as an animal’s, and it led him through the forest to a cave, its entrance concealed behind an overhanging tree limb. He pushed it aside so he could step into the cave, wondering what he’d find there. To have given off such a strong scent, Iorveth must have been angry, or terrified, or…

 _Oh_.

Quietly he drew his silver sword. Then cleared his throat. “Pardon me for interrupting, but our friend there is double-booked.”

The succubus turned her head, then leapt from Iorveth’s body with a hiss, her cloven hooves clattering on the rocky cave floor. “I did not mean to keep him from you, witcher.” Her voice was sweet and languid, curling around the words like scented smoke. It made him want to close his eyes and breathe it in. Gritting his teeth, Geralt fought the impulse. Succubi were intelligent, dangerous creatures with very strong magic – and very strong muscles.

“I can wait outside until you’re finished. Just don’t damage him.”

“I am done,” she said dismissively. “Although he is not.”

That was evident – impressively evident, thought Geralt. For a wiry elf, Iorveth had a prick that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a giant. Glistening with the succubus’s juices, it jutted stiffly from his nude body as he reclined on the low mossy bed that was the cave’s only furniture. Oddly, he didn’t look embarrassed under Geralt’s gaze, and after a moment, Geralt realized why; his eye stared glassily at the roof of the cave, and his body was motionless.

This was how he’d found Dandelion, that poor fool, when he’d stupidly followed the succubus outside Vergen into her lair – though at least Dandelion had been dressed, presumably after a successful...encounter. Mesmerized and seduced, and only after Geralt had agreed to clear her name of the murders she’d been blamed for had she dropped her hold on his friend. And then she’d given him a lovely experience, oh, yes, and a fine piece of armor….

He wrenched his mind back to the present, and the succubus now in front of him. No doubt his reverie had been her fault. Her scent tickled at him, tantalizing him, but he couldn’t allow himself to succumb. “Let him go,” he growled.

“I have,” she replied. “Of course, if you wish his _release_ , I leave that for you.” She slid past him and into the forest, her musical, mocking laughter trailing behind her.

Geralt took a few steps toward the mouth of the cave, but she was gone. Sighing, he sheathed his sword. “All right, Iorveth. Why don’t you get dressed, and we can talk.”

There was no response from the figure on the bed. 

Geralt swore and moved back to where Iorveth lay. In his experience – and from everything he’d heard – a succubus’ hypnotism wore off after a she had her way with her victim. But that generally coincided with orgasm, and Iorveth was still fully hard. He put his hand on the elf’s shoulder and shook him. Still nothing.

“Fine,” grumbled Geralt. “You’re gonna owe me.” Reaching out a hand, he curled his fingers around Iorveth’s straining cock and began to stroke.

Once, twice, and there, was Iorveth starting to stir? His color was better, his chest rising and falling, and Geralt thought he heard a soft breath hiss though barely-parted lips. He moved his hand faster, harder, and yes, that lovely neck arched and twisted, and that was definitely a moan. 

“Come on, you bastard,” he muttered. _Come on, come, come on me, let me see you spend yourself across my fingers._ Geralt found himself breathless, too, his own cock stirring in his breeches. His leather trousers were too confining. He was half tempted to rip off his own clothes, but then he’d have to let go of Iorveth and there was no way he was going to do that, not while the elf was panting so prettily, not while he was thrusting into Geralt’s hand. “Give it to me, come on.”

And then, _finally_ , Iorveth’s back arched and twisted; letting out a gasp that sounded as though it had emptied his lungs entirely, he spurted into the air and across Geralt’s bare hand and arm.

As soon as Iorveth’s body settled back onto the mossy bed, Geralt tore off his own clothes. No matter that his hand was wet and messy – it would wash off – the important thing was that he be naked, too, and as soon as he’d stripped the leather and cloth armor from his shaking limbs he threw himself on top of Iorveth.

Who cursed and shoved him hard with both hands, sending him sprawling to the cavern floor. “ _Bloede Dh’oine!_ As if I’d let you rut against me!”

“As if I’d let you stop me,” growled Geralt. Naked but for his crimson headscarf, without his weapons, the elf was no match for Geralt’s strength, and it was easy enough to rise up and throw his leg over Iorveth again, grabbing his wrists and pinning him down. He brought his mouth down on Iorveth’s for a punishing kiss; the bite he got on his lip only inflamed him further, and it took but a few thrusts of his hips against Iorveth’s taut thighs to push himself over the edge he’d been on for what had seemed like hours. For one glorious moment he let the shudders pass through him, gave himself up to the delicious sensation of orgasm.

And then the full import of what he’d done crashed down on him, and he rolled off Iorveth, horrified.

“Oh, shit.”

Iorveth regarded him grimly. “Quite.”

Geralt looked away. Amazing how much glare the elf could manage with only one eye. “What did she do with – wait, I see them.” Iorveth’s clothing was piled on a rock near the back of the cave, his bow leaning against the wall behind them, and Geralt scooped them up and tossed them on the foot of the bed, then picked up a canteen of water from his own scattered possessions. He moistened the sleeve of his shirt and cleaned himself, then poured more water on the other sleeve. Without looking behind him at Iorveth, he held it up, and it was plucked from his hand, with a grunt of what was presumably thanks. By the time he’d pulled on his trousers and boots, Iorveth had dropped the shirt back on the floor; Geralt picked it up, wrinkled his nose, and then dropped it again. He could manage with nothing under his padded armor until he got a new one. _Might as well leave her something to remember us by._

“It was the succubus,” said Geralt, strapping his swords onto his back.

“Yes.” Iorveth, fully dressed, stepped around him and toward the cave’s entrance.

“Wait.”

“I am not staying in that lair a moment longer than necessary.”

That was probably sensible, thought Geralt. With a few strides he caught up. Side by side, not speaking, they walked through the forest in the direction of the clearing. Finally Iorveth turned and leaned against a large oak. “You have the map?”

“I have the map.” Geralt pulled it from his pack and unfolded it, then handed it to Iorveth. “The Redanian forces are here and here. We plan on coming around this way,” he said, tracing a line with his forefinger. “This is where we need the diversion.”

Iorveth nodded and took the map, folding it again and placing it in his pocket. “The Scoia’tael will be there.” 

Geralt let out a breath. He’d been half afraid that Iorveth would have stormed off and refused to help. But apparently Iorveth had decided to ignore what had happened, and therefore so would he. “So,” he started.

Iorveth interrupted him. “We will not speak of it.” Then he melted into the forest without a backward glance.

“So we won’t speak of it,” said Geralt, to the empty air. Then he turned, and began walking back to town.


End file.
